


Winter Air

by Fridoline



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 10 Minute Writing Prompt, Character Study, Family Issues, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fridoline/pseuds/Fridoline
Summary: Weekly 10 minutes daily writing prompt: winter airA young Worick contemplates his weakness after an incident and aspires to change himself.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Winter Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_r_b_u_s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_r_b_u_s/gifts).



Winter in Ergastulum was usually rather mild but occasionally a cold front would hit and make the temperature drop rapidly. Not only had it snowed but the powdery stuff had piled up overnight, turning the normally rather Mediterranean city into a deceptively quiet and beautiful winter wonderland.

Worick was rushing through the backstreets. A couple of dirty bills crushed in a tightly clenched fist, he ran, as fast and far away from that corner as he could. Stupid, he had been so stupid. Big Mama would be angry, when she’d find out that he’d taken a job on the street and off her turf, too.

Not that he had been able to finish his work, the bastard had turned violent very quickly and then something had snapped in Worick. He had fought back, made a grab for the money and fucked off as fast as possible. He was sure the creep would kill him, if he caught him. Not unlike Georgiana, who really hated it, if her merchandise got damaged. Though, more often than not, she did play the stern but worried mother part quite convincingly.

But Worick wasn’t thinking about any of that, he was purely acting on instinct. As soon as fear had grabbed his heart, he’d been running on autopilot. The whole left side of his face stung, pain blossoming from that strike that had come so suddenly and from his literal blind spot. Then the shock had held him frozen enough for the guy to get another hit in.

Worick wasn’t a kid anymore. He had lost that childish roundness to his face a while back during his growth spurt, but he was still just a skinny and scrappy teen. Nonetheless, he had managed to shake off his attacker and steal his fucking money.

He didn’t know where he was running, there wasn’t exactly any real escape in this city. But the pain from the beating and the biting winter air made it hard to stay oriented as his one functioning eye kept stinging and blurring his sight. Worick’s lungs were burning from gasping in the icy air and puffing it out in little clouds of condensation. The taste of iron lay on his tongue.

As the adrenaline wore off and he grew tired and exhausted, Worick came to a halt somewhere that could resemble something like a park or whatever the closest thing to it was in Ergastulum. He was still wheezing, bent over shaking from overexerting himself and the chill settling in as his thoughts began taking over his hot-headed instincts again.

Worick fell to his knees, sagging into the snow as his mind replayed the incident and his stomach turned at the memories.

_Don’t vomit! Don’t vomit! Don’t vomit!_

He swallowed the bile that had been raising in his throat and kept staring at the snow in front of him to let that static white take over his mind and calm down.

He was pathetic, weak, to still be shaken by something like this. Worick cursed his mind and the memories it kept linking together. No matter how much he wanted to forget, to bury things as close to hell as possible, they always came back to the surface.

Worick’s left hand was buried in the snow, his right still clenched around that dirty money, unable to relax. He forced his fist open and carelessly stuffed the bills into his jeans pocket. That hot ball of fear, anger and utter shame had shrunk but still sat heavy in his chest. It was another thing he couldn’t get rid of.

Strands of hair clung to Worick’s forehead and the side of his face. His neck was wet with sweat as well. His clothes were not meant for this kind of weather so the chill settled fast into his bones. He turned around and flopped his ass right down onto the snow, not caring that it would melt and soak into the fabric of his trousers, inviting more stinging cool to cling to his skin and seep into his flesh.

Worick had learned that warmth wasn’t always a good thing. A warm home had been nothing but a cage, warm food had used to have that disgusting aftertaste of not belonging and the fear of breaking some table etiquette and inviting punishment to his room after the meal, a warm bed was just a way to earn some money now, and a warm touch was more often than not a hot palm to his face. Get too close to the fire and you will burn, right? Like a cigarette held to an eyeball.

Lifting his left hand to gingerly touch his pounding cheek, he immediately flinched at the hot spike of pain. Worick opened his mouth and moved his lower jaw around to check for additional damage. It hurt a bit in its hinges but that was probably mostly from clenching his teeth so hard. The skin over the left side of his face began to feel a bit tight, it was swelling and starting to turn some nice blue or purple colour. He could feel the pain pounding in his eye socket as well.

A part of Worick was glad it was ‘only’ the left part of his face that was damaged, in a macabre way. If his right side were hit, he’d be in trouble. With his right eye swollen over, he would be almost completely without sight for a while. A thing to avoid, if possible, he had learnt.

Not that you could tell your abuser where to hit you, but Worick wasn’t one to turn the other cheek, so to speak. He tried to not be that one anymore at least.

His hand grabbed a pile of snow and held it to the burning skin of his face, the cold instantly relieving. But it was melting fast, leaving only a slushy goo that was dripping right down his neck and into his collar.

Worick stood up, brushing off the snow clinging to him. He was slightly shivering but there was nothing he could do about it. His gaze drifted towards a patch of pristine snow at the side of the path. It was undisturbed by any human touch or animal movement, looking like a pile of sugar with a dash of glitter on top as it sparkled in the meagre daylight.

An old memory awoke, triggered by that sight.

As a child, Worick had once overheard the maids talking about his birth mother. The kind of gossip that had been highly risky and outright forbidden in that household. Nonetheless, he had heard their whispers. Apparently they had been feeling sorry for Clarisse, his step mother, for the poor lady had to endure the sight of that bastard son, who so resembled his harlot mother. Platinum blonde hair, skin as white as snow and eyes as blue as the eternal ice with a glacial heart to match that cold appearance, for why else would a woman dare to steal another woman’s husband?

Worick kept looking at the sparkling snow. It wasn’t at all as beautiful as always described. Sure, freshly fallen it looked quite pretty, but it didn’t take a lot to destroy that superfluous beauty. One step and it was turning into the downtrodden slosh, mixing in with the dirt underneath that it was only covering up. One touch and it was melting away, leaving nothing but a cold puddle.

The pristine had no place in this city, maybe not even in this world. It stained too easily. Just like that pale skin of his.

Worick turned around. It was time to find his way back home, where someone was waiting for him. He’d have time enough to get over this incident so that he could downplay his injury when he arrived and Nic would inevitably notice and ask what had happened. He wouldn’t follow up on whatever trite excuse Worick would give him, even though those dark eyes would tell him he knew it was bullshit.

It was fine. If yearning for warmth was only inviting pain, then Worick wouldn’t long for it anymore. He could try and give it to others, though. Worick still wanted to teach Nic that there was more than violence in this world, even if ultimately it might be even crueller to teach him kindness. After all Nic was considered to be. After all they had been through together.

If being soft like snow was a weakness, maybe he just had to learn to be as hard as ice and as chilling and deep-reaching as the wintery air itself.

Worick looked up at the overcast sky. He took a deep breath of the cold air, held it inside his aching lungs for a bit before releasing a huge, warm exhale in the form of a big cloud into the air above him, watching it dissipate quickly.

He started to cough and rubbed his chest with a teary eye.

If the frigid air could cause such a burning sensation in his lungs, maybe there was a different kind of warmth to be found there.

Worick smiled to himself, a little lopsidedly, since half his face was still hurting. He put his hands in his pockets, finding the crumpled bills he’d stuffed there earlier. Thinking about what he could buy with it on his way home. Not for himself, but for Nic.

To make this miserable life just a tiny bit better.


End file.
